Daffodils:


Little yellow trumpets that herald the coming Spring.
They shyly rise above the earth until, fully grown,
Then loudly proclaim
That Winter has turned on its heels
To give way to longer, warmer days.

And when their fanfare fades away,
the sweet peal of the bluebells can be heard,
Drifting across the early dawn.

And snowdrops smile,
Knowing that Summer will soon be here.

Up through the ground,
kissed by the frost,
a tender bloom seeks
a light long lost,
with some gentle force
and quiet power,
hope emerges on the green
as a snowdrop flower.

But, if such a small
and fragile thing
can pierce the frost
to greet early spring,
then why can't we,
like a snowdrop stay,
to wake and rise
on a cold January day?

Our strength must lay
dormant within,
beneath the cold joints
that make us wince,
so, we must try to learn
to trust and be seen,
like the gentle snowdrops
growing on the green.

©️Lizzie Bevis

Magnolia can correct me, I guess.


(sonnet #MMMMMMCMV)


Thin snow fir's lacy shadows cozen, frail
Nor but a vestige, waits as how from hence
The eaves drip like some faucet, April's scents
In tow whileas this warmer light'd avail,
Blue heavns expansive, wind's a soft exhale
And fragile though a caller breath, suspense
Is as a child in nurs'ry school fr'intents,
My soul half wanting to skip through the vale.
O yes, the moors are frozen still in tour,
Mud wakened to **** at our feet and do
Linoleum in childish strains.  None stir
Dead leaves' thick carpet to lift smiles unto
These gracious skies: no daffodils yet, fer
All I kin feel it in my bones.  What'd woo?

25Jan18a

Snowdrops will soon wake up
from their sweet dreams,
feeling the cold, light
and fluffy snow around,
the rays of sunshine falling over them.
Spreading fresh and pleasant frangrance.
Embellishing the season with their shiny, white colour.
They don't want to be detached from home - the soil.
They don't want to be trampled.
They want to be loved just as us.